Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and kara mixed wrestling. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “kara mixed wrestling” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see kara mixed wrestling come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “kara mixed wrestling, kara mixed wrestling, fuck, kara mixed wrestling!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “kara mixed wrestling” release.